


Always On My Mind

by flipflop_diva



Series: Remember Me [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, Gen, Natasha Needs a Hug, Natasha-centric, POV Natasha Romanov, Past Child Abuse, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Steve Rogers, Red Room (Marvel), Repressed Memories, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-30 14:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10164638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: But now she remembered, and it was too late. He was gone, locked away in a container until scientists could figure out a way to help him. And he didn’t remember her anyway. He remembered Steve. But not her. Not even when he shot her, not even when his hand was locked around her throat and she was staring him in the eye.(Part 3 of 3. Set during Civil War.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nezumimurasaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nezumimurasaki/gifts).



Steve found her. Standing in front of Bucky’s — in front of _James’s_ — cryofreeze container, a tear she didn’t recall shedding slipping silently down her cheek, memories swirling through her head.

She was eight years old, and it was the first time he was training them. She got too close during a fight, didn’t get out of the way fast enough. His metal arm struck her across the side of the head, sent her flying across the room, slamming into the wall on the other side. He pulled her by her hair, forced her to stand, blood dripping down her cheek, made her go again until she did it right.

She was ten years old, and she was being punished. She’d snuck out of bed and gotten caught. He pulled her into a room, knocked her to the ground, again and again until she didn’t get up. He got on top of her then, his weight on her heavy. He held her down, held her still, his fingers wrapped around her neck, choking her, goading her into finding a way to get them loose.

She was thirteen years old, and they were alone on a mission together. A test, her instructors said, to see if she was ready. She hadn’t been ready. And she was scared of what came next. They were alone together, waiting for extraction. She was tense, her breathing irregular, her heart beating fast. His metal finger slid down her cheek, a look in his eye she didn’t understand, her name a whisper on his lips. He held her to him, this man who was never gentle, only pushing her away when they heard the sound of footsteps. She waited that night for her punishment to come, for them to beat her, or lock her in a cell, or even to kill her. But it never came. Not that night, not in the morning. They sent her out with him again a week later.

She was sixteen years old, and he was gone, and there was an ache in her heart she didn’t understand. Don’t get attached, she was taught. Don’t care about anyone, she was taught. They caught her staring at the room she thought he was in, grabbed her tightly by the arm, dragged her through the halls, strapped her down on a gurney. She woke up hours late, sore and in pain and with no memory of what had happened.

She remembered now, though. She remembered everything. Or maybe not everything. She suspected there were some things she would never remember. But the pieces fit now. Everything made sense.

It had taken a long time for her to remember. The first piece had come weeks after he shot her the second time, came in a dream when she was off on her own, trying to figure out her life. She’d remembered him giving orders, remembered girls crying, remembered him yelling at them to do it again. 

The next one had come months later, just before Ultron. She remembered sitting beside him, hesitantly touching his hand, tracing the metal and asking if it ever hurt.

They came more frequent after that, memories suddenly appearing in her mind. The way he had been when he first arrived. The trainings that went on for hours. The pain he forced them to endure. The punishments that he handed out. 

But she remembered the other stuff too. The way he helped her. The way he was gentle with her in a way no one else had ever been.

He had been her friend. Or at least the closest she had ever had to a friend. Maybe he was even someone she once loved. Until he was taken from her and she was made to forget.

But now she remembered, and it was too late. He was gone, locked away in a container until scientists could figure out a way to help him. 

And he didn’t remember her anyway. He remembered Steve. But not her. Not even when he shot her, not even when his hand was locked around her throat and she was staring him in the eye. 

She barely heard the footsteps behind her, not until it was too late, not until he was already so close that she couldn’t slip away before he saw her.

She turned to look at him, forgetting there were tears pooling in her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. Forgetting until she saw his eyes, saw him looking. She hastily wiped them away, but she knew he had seen.

He looked calm, though. Sad. But not betrayed. Not confused. Not like someone who had just seen his teammate crying over the man who was his best friend.

She had expected confusion. She had expected betrayed. Steve was smart. He would figure it out, figure out what she hadn’t told him. His best friend and his teammate, and she had kept her mouth shut.

He stopped beside her, stuffed his hands in his pockets, looked up at Bucky, frozen solid.

“He told me,” he said quietly. “That he knew you. That he trained you.”

She couldn’t hide her surprise. She hadn’t expected that.

“He …. remembers?” She struggled to get the word out, felt something burning in the back of her throat, a painful stinging in her eyes.

No. She couldn’t cry more. She didn’t cry. She wasn’t supposed to cry.

She tried to turn away, to shield her face, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

And then Steve was there, encompassing her, pulling her against him, warm and strong and safe.

“He’s sorry he didn’t remember earlier,” Steve murmured into her hair.

Natasha sniffled. “I didn’t remember until he tried to kill me. Again.”

“I know,” Steve said. His voice was soft, gentle. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He pulled her in tighter, his hand cupping the back of her head.

There was so much she wanted to say. She wanted to ask him how he knew she hadn’t always known, wanted to ask him why he was being so nice to her when she had betrayed him, wanted to ask — wanted to do — so many things.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. So instead she just cried. And let him hold her.

**Author's Note:**

> Nezumimurasaki, I hope you enjoyed this little series! I had originally intended to make Bucky & Natasha be a more romantic relationship, but she was just so young (in MCU canon), that it felt better this way. I tried to leave it a little ambiguous though, so it can be however you wish it to be!
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